Distances
by Angellee
Summary: Rogue puts up barriers around herself to keep people out. Gambit tries to sneak around those barriers and reach her without getting pummeled. Will they be able to work out their problems and close the distance between themselves?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey y'all. I don't own any of these characters; they're all Marvel's. The story, though, is mine. I know these characters and their stories mostly through the animated series from the 90's and through fansites, so this... really doesn't take place at any real time in the storyline, though I may mention events that happened in the show or that I've read about. Yay! I'm also going to try to write in the first person and alternate characters, starting with Rogue. I like to try to write in accents for dialog, but I can't keep that up, nor make it readable, for the entirety of each chapter. Let me know if the accents, or anything else for that matter, are incomprehensible. And now, with all that out of the way... enjoy!

* * *

For the first time in nearly two weeks, I wake up in my own bed. The feel of my soft cotton sheets is so nice on my bare limbs, so much better than scratchy hotel sheets, I almost don't want to get up and start the day, but my stomach is grumbling loudly, insisting that I run downstairs for a bite to eat. I wonder who's on kitchen duty this morning. If it's Bobby, I might have to sneak past the kitchen and into the garage so I can get some real food in town. The last time I ate his food, I didn't think I was ever going to taste anything again; the flavor was so overwhelmingly foul it numbed my mouth. Shuddering at the memory, I reluctantly roll out of bed and stretch. A good night's sleep in my own bed is so refreshing. I almost don't feel like I'd spent the last week and a half on a wild goose chase. I still look it, though. When I walk into the bathroom attached to my bedroom, I'm staring at a very tired looking woman. There are shadows under my eyes, but it's nothing I can't cover up with a little makeup until it goes away. I just need to get some good sleep while I'm here if I can.

I shower, clean myself up real good, and dry my hair. I've started wearing it straight, so that's less work for me, but I still spend forever on my makeup. My stomach protests as I sit down to put my face on, but there is no way in hell I'm going downstairs without my lipstick and at least a bit of mascara. I can't control much else, but I am in complete control of my appearance. I'm not going to waste that. Once I've finally dressed, an embroidered green t-shirt and some jeans that fit just right, I pick up my gloves and frown. All that work, all that looking, all these years, and I still can't go anywhere or do anything without barriers and covers. Every morning I go about my business in my little bubble, wearing my tank top and sleep shorts and pretending like I'm normal, and I'm happy. I feel good about myself. And every morning that all comes to an end when I have to put on my gloves and go out into the world. That bubble doesn't go away though. It just changes into a prison rather than a little place of peace. No one can come in, I can't get out. And these pretty white opera gloves, made of the thinnest material I can find, represent that prison to me. I pull them on tight; a shaky sigh escapes my lips before I realize it's there. The smooth material coats my hands, my forearms, and stops above my elbow. An inch-wide strip of skin is left open on my arms - a chink in my armor, a gap in my barrier - and I know that that's too much... but I just don't care right now. I want to have a good day.

When I get downstairs, I smell something heavenly coming from the kitchen. Thank the Lord, it's someone who can really cook. I can hear the others already in there, so I smile big as I open up the door. But when I sweep my eyes across the room, my heart flips and sinks at the same time. He's cooking. He's back from his own mission and he's smiling. I don't know why I'm surprised he's here; he, Logan, and Kurt left a day before Storm and I did, and they were supposed to be helping out a group of mutants being harassed by the FoH. In and out. I guess I'm just surprised he's up so early, he normally sleeps in unless Scott wakes him up for morning training. He looks up from the skillet he's holding and looks at me, pinning me to the spot with those beautiful, strange eyes and that crooked little smile. That smile makes me warm all over every time it's directed at me, and this morning ain't an exception.

"Mornin', _cheré_. Y' wan' you a omelet? Gambit make y' one up special."

In a flash I collect myself and I put my mask up. I'm Rogue, tough stuff; I don't take nothin'. And I can't let him see what he does to me. I can't. No matter how sweet he is, no matter how handsome he is, no matter how hard he makes my heart beat, I can't let him know. I mutter something to him about wanting a ham and cheese omelet and sit down next to Storm. The group at the table smiles over at me, and I train my eyes on them rather than letting them drift over to Remy. No, I can't do this to myself, not again. I don't let my eyes fall on Gambit. Kurt smiles at me from across the small kitchen table as Scott continues to fire questions off at Storm. I hear her telling Scott in several different ways that we didn't find hide nor hair of any kind of mutant cure or a scientist working towards it at the end of any of our leads. Kurt seems to know that their conversation and the Cajun man at the stove are distressing me a bit, cause he tries to distract me.

"_Guten morgen, schwester, wie geht es dir heute?_"

"Ah'm good, Kurt. How're you?"

"_Sehr gut._ Vhat are your plans for the day?"

"Ah guess Ah'm gonna-"

I cut myself off as I see a plate enter my field of vision. Gambit's laying it down in between my gloved hands with a little smirk on his face, trying not to interrupt me by saying something. Well, he interrupted me anyway. I'm trying my best to get grumpy at him, and I open my mouth to say something smartassed when he sits down next to me with his own plate and just grins. The kitchen table is full and he got the last seat... I didn't have a choice but to sit next to him.

"You planned it this way, didn'tcha?"

"Planned what, _petite_?"

He has that doggone grin on his face that he gets when he wins or gets his way, and somehow that completely disarms me. My eyes are still narrowed from my little accusatory statement, but I end up looking at my plate instead of going on with whatever little tirade I had in my head. It's getting hard to get fiesty with him, to act angry and take offense at every little thing. I guess it's because every little thing just makes me... no. I won't admit that to myself again. Not after the last time. I can't do this again.

"Nothin', swamp rat. Anyway, Kurt, Ah guess Ah'm gonna hang 'round here today. Ah need to do some cleanin' in mah room an' Ah got a book Ah still haven't finished after tryin' for nearly a month."

"That sounds relaxink."

Kurt smiles at me, almost as if he's proud that I didn't haul off and hit Gambit, and starts eating. I'm just about to ask him what he's got planned when I see Gambit start to lean in out of the corner of my eye.

"If you need help, _cheré_, Gambit can help clean. He good at makin' t'ings disappear."

Even though that strikes me funny, I force myself to look pained at the lined and shake my head dramatically. This is the first time in several weeks we've been this close, and it's painful. I just want to get away from him before something happens and one of us gets hurt. I start to hurriedly cut up my omelet as I talk to save myself some time in the long run.

"Ah'm sure ya can, but Ah'm perfectly capable a' cleanin' mah room by myself. Need some alone time anyway."

"Y' can be alone wit' Gambit."

It took everything I had not to shiver when his voice dropped to a husky whisper. I would give anything to be alone with Remy again, like it was before. But we can't do things like that ever again and he knows it. My powers would kill him. I can feel tears sting my eyes as I turn to look at him, my best scowl set in my features.

"Can it, swamp rat, ya know better than that!"

I start to eat quickly, trying to look normal. Kurt's now trying to talk to Bobby next to him, and thankfully Storm is still talking to Scott. But this is normal, me yelling at Gambit, Gambit smirking and saying something almost no one but me can here, me socking Gambit in the gut and running off. Damn it all, I don't want to do this this morning. But he won't let it go. He just leans in closer, his voice even lower.

"Dere're ways we can get 'round dat, cheré, if ya let dis Cajun in."

I want it, but I can't have it, and he's teasing me with it. It'll all just end up the same: him on the floor unconscious and me standing there blabbering in his stupid, sexy accent with his exotic eyes and his powers, and all of his memories in my head. So I let him know that this conversation is over by pushing him away and storming off. I can't see the hurt look on his face or even where he landed this time as I exit, leaving him and the half-eaten omelet behind. It's better this way. It's better that I'm alone, walled off from the rest. It's better that I don't let anyone close. It's better that I don't show anyone what I really feel. I can't hurt anyone if they don't get to close, and they can't hurt me. It's just better this way.

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so much for the reviews and little add thingies! That makes me so happy! ^_^ Sorry for the delay, this was REALLY difficult for me to write. I always have a hard time getting guys right. They're always either major pervs or really feminine. Anyway, I've got the next two chapters outlined a little in my head, so I should be putting out the next couple pretty quick. Yay!

* * *

"Well, that went pretty well."

I can hear Drake chuckle at himself under his breath in the silence that follows Rogue's exit, but when he stops suddenly I just know either Stormy or ol' Wolverine's shot him a look. I pull myself up and dust myself off, and I can't help but agree with the Popsicle. Nothing's broke, not inside this Cajun and not outside, either. Her plate ain't even moved. The only evidence that we had another "moment" is the two overturned chairs and my body across the room. I can't deny my back is a little sore, but it's not as bad as usual. Before the Savage Lands, she would've tossed me clean through the window. Maybe she's got a soft spot for this ol' boy after all.

I right the chairs she knocked over and sit back down to finish my food. I'm not really hungry any more, but I ain't gonna let anyone know that all this is getting to me. They know, though. No one's made any more little comments after Snowflake finished giggling, and no one's really paying it any mind. Maybe they're as tired of this as I am. A little flash of movement at the edge of my vision catches my attention and I see Stormy picking up Rogue's plate.

"Non, Stormy, Gambit take dat up to her; see if she wanna finish."  
"You sure you wanna do that, Gumbo? She might make up for not putting you through the wall."

Wolverine's a very supportive individual, non? My very own short, hairy cheerleader. Note to self, save that little visual for the next time someone tries to go poking around in my head. I can feel the smirk borne from humor and that flirt I can't hold back. Even when she's not around, I find myself directing innuendo at her.

"Mebbe she let me give her breakfast in bed."

Stormy gives me that "Oh, please, Brother," look and sets the plate closer to me.

"Do not call me 'Stormy'."

I catch a smile in her voice and grin back at her before I pick up my plate and Rogue's. Mine goes straight into the sink, which earns me a frown from One Eye that I pretend not to see, and hers leaves with me as I begin my search for the feisty _femme_ with my heart in her hands.

* * *

It takes a grand total of ten minutes to find her; Remy knows her a lot better than she thinks he does. She wasn't in her room, and since no one saw her fly off, the next place I checked was the roof. Bingo. She'd parked that perfect derriere on the roof, and now she's got her knees pulled up to her chest, her pretty little chin resting on her crossed arms. I charge the plate a little to make sure her omelet's nice and warm, but honestly I'm not so sure I want to give it to her right now. I'd rather sit down next to her and take her into my arms, make that brooding look in her eyes go away. Or run my fingers over that little strip of flawless, pale skin she's got showing on her lower back between her waistband and her shirt, then up her back to rub her shoulders, to make her feel wanted, because she is. If I tried, though, I'm pretty sure they'd find a broken Cajun tossed out in the dirt after she knocks me off the roof.

Why does she do that? Why does she think she has to beat the hell out of me? Can't she see what she does to me? Didn't I show her how much I loved her back in the Savage Lands? I've been trying to tell her for weeks now that I think I know how to get past her powers, but she won't sit in the same room alone with me, and she won't let me talk to her for long. Maybe I should just show her what I've been working on, give her a little surprise.

I move forward, shifting the plate to my off hand as I make sure to stay downwind of her. Won't do me any good if she smells her food before I get close enough. I've got my target picked, and I feel my focus sharpen to a point as I crouch into a full sneak. My lips curl into a smirk as I close in on her. When I'm barely within reach, I extend my hand and cover the pads of my fingers in a thin sheath of energy. My tongue flicks over my lips as I prepare for the outcome of this little experiment. All of my muscles are tensed; adrenaline is pumping through me like it does right before I grab a valuable object under heavy guard. In a way, that's exactly what I'm doing. My lungs pull in a deep breath and hold it there as my fingers finally brush the ribbon of soft porcelain between the green cotton and dark denim.

I have just enough time to think about how soft and smooth her skin is, how cool it is from the early spring air. I can feel a soft pull at the shield at my fingertips, it might be too thin, but I don't feel anything being taken. My heart leaps and I can feel the big smile on my face, but my celebration is cut short.

She's up in the air almost before I realize she's gone, glaring at me with tears in those brilliant emerald eyes. My heart drops as her full lips pull down into a frown and her gloved hands clench into fists. This poor boy just can't catch a break, can he?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I love the reviews you guys leave, thank you so much! I've been trying to write a lot quicker because of the reviews. :)

* * *

So much for having a good day. Why can't he just... Hell, I don't even know what I want him to do. Just not _that._ He traps me in his eyes, that paradise of shadow and flames, and then he starts pulling down all my barriers with those graceful thief's hands. He makes me _believe_, really _believe_ for a second that it's really that easy, and everything will be roses. But it isn't. And it most likely never will be.

I close my eyes and let the breeze blowing over the roof caress my face and tousle my hair. The breeze used to be the very reason I came up here. Now it's more of a curse that I endure just for the solitude, just to be away from everyone else. Before, I used to let my eyes drift shut and pretend that the sensation on my cheeks, through my hair, at the back of my neck was his fingertips. I used to come up here to pretend that he was soothing me. But now that I've actually felt his hands on my skin, his fingers running through my hair... The breeze is nothing. It brings me no more comfort. It just makes me mad all over again. I fight a frown; fight the tears stinging my eyes. I really wanted to have a good day. That's all I-

My eyes open as I realize something is on the small of my back, and a split second later I'm up. I don't have to run my hand over my back to check for a bug, because it's not. It's a Cajun and he's got that sexy smile on his face. Damnit, he just can't stop, can he? Why can't he see he's tearing me apart? I can feel my hands clench tightly, my knuckles as white as the gloves covering them. Before I can even stop myself, I fly closer to him and push him forcefully, barely managing to get my fists open before they hit his shoulders. I retreat a little to keep myself from either attacking him with my fists or my lips, because I'd hurt him bad either way I went. The only reason I pushed him in the first place was to keep myself from falling into his arms.

"What in tarnation do ya think yer doin'? Don't you have any sense at all? We can't- AAAAH!"

I'm so frustrated, so angry with him for making me want him so bad, that I let out a little scream and fly away, leaving him sitting there with that look on his face again. I think I'm the only one that catches that look in his eyes, that flash of sadness, because it's just for me. I fly up and away, quick as I can to put as much distance between us as possible. This is the only way it can be. I've been working for years to make things different, and everything I've done has failed. Maybe this is what I get for working with Mama... with Mystique. I shouldn't have gone with her, let her talk me into doing all those things. But she was the only one that wanted me... At least, that's what I thought. God, I was so wrong. All she wanted was my powers. She taught me how to utilize them, to get the most out of them, but she never once tried to teach me how to control them. That's what brought me here in the first place, and this hasn't done me much good, either. But here, I feel a little more like I'm helping people.

Shouldn't that balance things out? Maybe there's something else, maybe it's just fate. I don't know any more. The voices in my head start to chatter as my mind wanders, and suddenly I feel like I'm in the war room while all the guys are squabbling over some damn thing and yelling at once. It's a dull roar. Then some of the voices become more distinct and make me hear what they're saying. They mock me, accuse me, remind me of all the things I've done wrong. Some beg me to let them out, to let them go home. Others tell me how horrible I am and that I deserve the hell I've put myself in. There's crying, screaming, muttering, whispering. Their emotions become mine, one right after another, and I think I may be speaking but there's no way to tell now. I'm drowning in that sea of noise and pain that is only in my mind, and there's no one that can help me, not this time. Before I realize it, I'm screaming and flying straight up into the air, flying for the edge of nothing. I make that large expanse of blue above my head my singular focus and try to block it all out, to clear my head, and it's all I see, all I feel.

Blue, cold, empty.

Just before I hit the point that I start to have trouble breathing, the voices melt away and there's silence. At least, the low rumble that I've been regarding as silence for the last few years. I start to float down, back toward the earth. I'm not really sure why I want to go back at this point. The world up here is just about as good as the one below. In both places, I'm all alone. I'm so far away from everyone else. Up here, I can't be tempted and I can't make mistakes. But up here, I have no rest, no distractions. Just me and my voices and all the things I've done. I can't take that. I need the people outside my head. I need my friends, my family. I need Remy. What am I going to do?

I look around to see where I've ended up, and I see water stretching out in all directions, save behind me. I can still see the shore, and I figure Gambit's probably inside by now. He's probably sitting in his window smoking one of his cigarettes, blowing the smoke outside so Hank doesn't get onto him for exposing the rest of us to second hand smoke. Or he's out in the garden with Storm, talking with her while she weeds. He probably bounced back just like normal, and he's joking around with someone, making one of the younger girls blush, playing solitaire or poker. He always picks himself right up, dusts himself off, and tries again. That's why I'm afraid to go back. That's why I want to go back so badly.

What was he even thinking going up on the roof like that? Was he just trying to touch me, or did he want to talk with me? I think he had something in his hand when I knocked him over, it made a sound when he dropped it... I picture him in my head, the quick image of him standing there before I knocked him down, then the tear-blurred sight of him laying on his back on the roof, the plate next to him with my omelet half off the plate. He was bringing me my breakfast.

My heart sinks a little in my chest. I could've really hurt him if I hadn't have held myself back, and all he was trying to do was bring me breakfast. I curl up in a ball, hugging myself in mid air as I shake my head at my own stupid overreaction. He was probably trying to get my attention by poking at me with the fingers his gloves cover. Why he went for my exposed back is a damn mystery to me; he knew better than that. Sometimes he can get away with patting my shoulder, but I never let him touch my bare skin, not with those funky little gloves he wears with his uniform. It'd be too easy to hit me with one of his exposed fingers...

Wait.

Wait a minute. He wasn't in uniform today. He was wearing a t-shirt that really accentuates his well-toned body and a pair of jeans... and that ain't his uniform. He wasn't even wearing his trench coat...

I scour my memory one more time and try to remember his hands. His bare hands. He wasn't wearing any gloves when he touched my back. Is he crazy? He could've... but he didn't. He didn't get hurt. He didn't even look tired. And I got nothing off of him. He touched me, skin on skin, and nothing happened.

I've just made a horrible mistake.

I have to get back to him, to tell him I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't give him a chance. I'm sorry I didn't believe him. Why do I have to be so stubborn? Why do I have to get so caught up in myself?

I fly back to the mansion as quickly as I can, and I head in through my own bedroom window. I straighten out my hair as best as I can and try to think of what I'm gonna say to him. Sorry just isn't enough. So many phrases and words go running through my head, and none of them seem to fit.

'I'm sorry I punch you, throw you, knock you down, and yell at you whenever you get close to me. I'm just afraid of hurting you.' No, that doesn't work even though it's true. He knows that's what it is, but it sounds ridiculous that I hurt him to keep him from getting hurt. He just won't listen to me otherwise... But really, it's my own fault. This whole thing is.

'Sorry I didn't listen to you earlier, you say things like that so often and most of the time you're just talking about wrapping one of us up in silk or latex or something... I didn't think you meant it this time.' That sounds like I'm blaming him instead of apologizing. No matter what I come up with, it's an excuse or passive aggressive. Why can't I do this right?

Finally, after a few minutes of just staring at my dresser and chewing on my lower lip, I decide that I'll just have to wing it and hope that he gets what I mean. I fix my lipstick quickly and step out into the hall. His door is shut tight, but when I get near it, I can smell his cigarettes. I put my ear up to the door and I can hear his cards hitting his desk faintly. Solitaire. I raise my hand and knock at the door softly, just loud enough for him to hear. The door opens a moment later and he peers out at me with eyes I almost don't recognize. That playful spark that gives that soft crimson glow of his eyes a special kind of life isn't there. It's replaced by a look of genuine sadness.

"Gambit ain't really in de mood f' dis game _maintenant, cheré. _Mebbe you c'n toss 'im out a window later."

He steps back and closes the door gently, almost silently. I never thought that would happen. I should have expected it. Actually, at one time, I wished he would do that. Turn his back on me and leave me. But now that he had, everything felt as though it was breaking. My heart aches harder than it ever has, worse than when we got back from the Savage Lands and he and I were back where we started from. My lungs just aen't working, and I have to sit down, my back up against the wall next to his door. My chest feels so tight, my stomach churns What have I done? Why did I have to push him so far away? Why did I think I wanted him to stop wanting me? How could I have been so stupid?

He's only a few yards away from me right now, but I've never in my life felt so far away from him.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Ahhhh, sorry for changing chapter 3 and making it look like I updated it before I had actually updated. :'( I had to change a tense issue I had in the last paragraph, it was driving me nuts every time I reread the story for reference. Anyway, I start to mix and match a little from the comics and a little from the show here, I think, and I took some liberties. And yes, we have another angsty chapter. D:

Anyway, thank you all so much for the continued reviews. I really appreciate it, and it encourages me a lot. I want to give special thanks to Ravencrest Stories, my boyfriend, for reading these for me and giving me his honest opinion, and to RemyLebeau4ever1 for keeping me going. Thanks y'all :D And now for some Gambitangst.

* * *

I been thinking. Been thinking a lot lately.

What've I been doing wrong? I can't seem to get things right with this girl. Flirting gets me knocked across the room; leaving her alone gets me nowhere. If I play hard to get, she don't play. If I come on strong, she swings at me. How can I show her how I feel if she won't let me get near? I had a smile on my face the whole time with this, laughing and throwing out double entendres like they's playing cards and acting like nothing's wrong. I've had to, because that's who I am, and I'm not gonna let anyone know that I'm beginning to crack. But Marie... that _femme_ is tearing this ol' boy to pieces.

I told myself to just hold on. We've been through a lot together, and we've had some great times. There are times that we would laugh together. We'd take turns poking fun at Bobby, or she'd run interference when I was trying to pull a fast one on Cyke. We'd drink coffee together, we'd talk, we'd go on picnics. We had a couple of honest-to-God dates. In the field, we've always watched out for each other, and up until we got back from the Savage Lands, I could tell Marie cared for me. I mean, she used to get upset and yell at me and kiss me through her hand all at once if I scared her enough. Sure, she never got to where she'd let me try to almost touch her without flinching hard, but I knew that we had something. Something real. All we had to do was break down the walls we'd both put up to keep everyone else out.

We both have issues with trust. We've both had rough pasts. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I've opened my heart completely to her. I put my heart in her gloved hands. I told her the words I've never uttered to another soul, not even to the _fille_ I was supposed to marry. I trust her. Trusted her. I'm not so sure I should any more.

See, even ol' Remy has his breaking point. As good as it's been with her, it's been just as bad. I've been punched, knocked down, thrown, and nearly broken. She calls me names, insults me, pushes me away in every way she can think of. Though, I've gotta admit, 'Swamp Rat' is beginning to grow on me. It's more like a pet name now than anything, and I've taken to calling her River Rat on occasion, too. It's cute. But it's still the thought that counts. And it's starting to look like she wants me to head on back down to the bayou. Before the Savage Lands, we'd at least have a kind of a balance. Some good days, some bad days. Ever since we all got home, it's been downhill.

I thought maybe it was because she couldn't stand to see what she couldn't have. That seems logical, right? It's like a little kid that's badly lactose intolerant can have real ice cream just one day, and then never again. So she gets to taste it just that once, and after that... it gets to where it just ain't fair it even exists. That's what I figure, anyway. And so far, that's kept me going. That's what's got me working so hard on fixing things up so she can touch me right now, not a few years down the line. She can't be around me cause she can't touch me anymore.

I don't know how many nights I stayed up trying to get the energy sheath just right. I charged my clothes and nearly blew myself up more times than I could count. This Cajun was a regular firecracker at first. Then, after I got to where I wasn't charging everything I touched, I had to see if my sheath'd burn if I touched other people. It was funny, I never had to worry bout my own touch before. Turns out, my first attempt singed the hair right off of Wolverine's arm and gave him two little burns where my first two fingers hit him. He jumped up and chased me until I managed to tell him what I was doing. Even though I feel like hell, I gotta laugh thinking about the look on his face that first time I snuck up on him and tagged him with that sheath up. Don't know who I could have tested this on if he wasn't around with his healing factor. Took us a few days and a few traded injuries to finally get it right. I wanted to tell _ma cheré_ right then and there, even though it was four in the morning and Wolverine had slugged me more than once for burning him and my shoulder was bruised up. But I waited. I wanted everything to be just so when I let her know we could touch.

Just when I was trying to find ways to get her alone and tell her, we get news that there was some whack-job scientist trying to cook up another cure. I remember that she got so excited. She didn't try to hide it like she did when we thought some _homme_ was working at the Muir Island facility. She wouldn't sit still for a second, and before I knew it, I had to go save the day and she was out looking for the cure with Stormy.

I felt good for her. That was a lot of effort wasted, but if she was going to be happy, I was going to be a very happy Remy. When Stormy called in and reported that they were coming back home with nothing, not even an indication this guy existed, I knew it would break her poor heart. That's when I decided I would show her, regardless of who was around, that we could touch, and I could hold her when she needed it without her fearing for our safety.

All night last night I planned. Several plans, one for every situation I could think of. This thief ain't dumb. He knows that backup plans of backup plans are a necessity, just in case. But seeing here there, all by herself out on the roof, made all those plans go out the damn window. I was riled up cause she pushed me again, and I thought it was the perfect opportunity. I touch her; she feels it, and she knows. Yeah, real perfect, Remy. Got this Cajun ass knocked flat. She didn't even give me a second look before she put me down.

So here I sit, cards in hand and a cigarette hanging off my lips. The smoke and the sound of the cards in my hands is soothing, but it's not helping. I been playing solitaire since I got up here, and even that ain't helping none. I keep on thinking about how quick she is to deny me, to push me away. It's like she don't know how hard it is for me, too. Seeing her after knowing what her lips taste like, what she feels like in my arms, and knowing that I can't touch, and that I'll be punished for trying, cuts me deep. It's like that kid with the ice cream, except when she tries to see if she's got a way to eat ice cream somehow, her momma slaps her senseless for thinking silly thoughts.

After a while, wouldn't that kid just quit trying? Wouldn't she finally stop looking at types of ice cream without dairy, stop looking at medicines that helped keep her stomach from rejecting the ice cream, and just avoid the stuff all together? Would her _mere_ feel bad for crushing her dreams? I'd guess most mommas would want to support their... Well, I started the analogy out with a little girl and now it's starting to feel weird and I've messed the solitaire game up royally.

Could be that I messed up more than the solitaire game. I sigh as I run my hands through my hair, tugging it a little. No, I can't blame myself for everything. It's not all me. It's not all her, either, but she hasn't been doing much to help.

Just as I start to deal myself out a new game, I hear a soft knock at the door. Should I even bother with it? If its Jubilee or Kitty, I don't feel much like making them blush and listening to them gush over whatever's caught their fancy today. If it's Cyke, I might just shut the door in his face and ignore him. There's no way I'm putting up with the stoic leader persona while he pretends to give a shit or tries to discuss things with me. Stoic was good on Spock, not so good on Scotty. But Wolverine or Stormy'd sure be nice to talk to right about now. Could go get a beer with the ol' _loup-garou_ and forget for a little while. Could get Stormy to listen to me for a little while and get this whole mess off my chest. Bobby'd even be good. He and I could stir up some trouble and get my mind off things.

It feels like I been weighing my options, gauging the chances of the mystery knock belonging to someone I want to deal with, for half an hour, but I can tell it ain't been that long when I open up the door. She's standing there, looking both flawless and broken at the same time. I want to take her into my arms and make everything all right. I want to reach out and run my fingers through her hair, pull her to me, and kiss her breathless. But all that would get me is more pain. I keep my face blank and force a rejection to my lips.

"Gambit ain't really in de mood f' dis game _maintenant, cheré. _Mebbe you c'n toss 'im out a window later."

When I close the door, I feel emptiness in my chest. Instead of going back to my game, I take my cigarette and sit in the window. The wind feels nice, cooling my skin. But it doesn't help that feeling in my chest, the pit in my stomach. No _femme_ has made me feel the way, not ever. I ain't sure I want to let this go, but I ain't so sure I want to keep on like this.

A sob from just outside the door draws me out of my thoughts before I can get going again. I charge my cigarette and toss it out the window, leaving a small pop and a cloud behind me as I make my way back over to the door. I put my hands against it, lean my head against so my ear is almost pressed to the wood, and I can hear soft sniffling. There's another low sob, muffled by the door and probably gloved hands, too. Marie's still out there and she's crying. It sounds like she's trying to hide it. That want bubbles up in my chest. I can do it. I can walk out there right now and pick her up, hold her tight and kiss the tears away. But when would it all start again? When would she see a flaw in my plan and toss me out like trash? I been treated like trash way too much in my life. Don't want to anymore. But I can't resist her. She's only a few feet away, I could reach out and touch her without moving if I opened the door. But I can't make her see how much I love her, I can't make her see that I only want to make her happy.

She's close enough to touch, but she's too far away to reach.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hey guys. :D I got WAY carried away with the first part of this chapter. I kept getting all these ideas as I was going along, and the chapter ended up being completely different than what I had originally intended. I wrote the very last few paragraphs six different ways before I settled. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Also, I know that they're a little slow to break free of their usual patterns and cycles, but it's so hard to change yourself in just one day, so I'm trying to reflect that at least just a little.

* * *

I open my eyes and the sun's shining brightly through my curtains. It's a brand new day, and I've got some work to do. I roll on out of bed, take a shower, and start to do my makeup. I feel like I can really fix things today. I'm going to tell Remy that I'm sorry, and I'm going to start listening to him. I look my reflection in the eyes and nod emphatically, affirming my claim to myself, making it a promise instead of a goal. I got to get my clothes on, and check myself in the mirror one more time. Perfect. Remy's not going to be able to resist me.

When I go to leave, I turn to the dresser for my gloves but find an empty space. I stare at the space that my gloves normally occupy and begin to think back. Could I have taken them off when I was changing for bed? I can't remember. I look through my clothes hamper, search my nightstand, and rummage around in my sheets. My thin white gloves are nowhere to be found. That's all right, I guess. I have so many pairs that go with so many outfits that they're practically coming out of my ears. I open up the drawer devoted to gloves in my dresser and it's filled with underwear, mostly bras.

"Oh, that's a great joke, Bobby. Ah'm gonna kill you fer diggin' 'round in my underwear."

Completely unamused, I roll my eyes a little and open up my underwear drawer, and it's full of panties. When did I have this much underwear? I empty both drawers, all of the drawers in the dresser, and take every scrap of clothing from my closet. Soon, every uniform I have ever had is on my bed, by street clothes are scattered over the floor, but not a single glove can be found.

"What in the world is goin' on?"

I frown down at my manicured nails, my slender fingers, my soft hands. Nothing ever hurts them inside my gloves, so they're soft and pretty... but they're deadlier weapons than I care to admit. My bare arms are just as bad. Why did I decide on this tight t-shirt today? I go to look for something with longer sleeves on it, and all my winter clothes and long sleeved blouses are gone. Every last one of uniform tops are all short sleeved somehow, and my jackets are missing. And someone is going to pay for messing with me while I'm asleep. This isn't funny. This is dangerous and a little hurtful.

I clench my fists and bite back a growl of frustration as I step over the piles of clothes in the floor and go searching for the person that did this. I plan on picking up the first giggling person I see and tossing them down the hallway. I go all the way down the hallway where we all sleep both ways, but I can't find anyone. All the doors are open but mine, which is weird, but what's weirder is that there's no one around. There could have been an emergency late at night that got everyone out of bed, but surely someone would have come and got me if both teams needed to head out. Maybe... maybe everyone is just eating breakfast. That's it. Every person in the house is downstairs all at the same time but me. I feel so very alone, though. The whole mansion is silent except for a single, rhythmic sound coming from the living room. It sounds like a heartbeat.

When I walk into the living room, I see Remy draped over the couch, shirtless with the throw pulled over his lower half. He's asleep, his lips slightly parted and his face relaxed and peaceful. He must have gone out drinking with Logan last night, gotten drunk, and mistook the living room for his bedroom. I've found him on the couch sleeping off a night of booze and pool on the couch before, but he normally just crashes out, trench, boots, and all. He's not afraid of showing off that perfect body, he just doesn't normally choose to sleep on the couch half dressed. I shrug it off a little as I notice that the beating hasn't gotten louder or softer, but it feels like it's all around me, making the air pulse.

"Remy?"

I want to go over there and shake him awake, to ask him what's going on. I just afraid though, all his bare skin and all my bare skin... Maybe if I just touch his hip, shake him awake like that, it'll be fine. Slowly I walk over to him, and without me asking it to, my hand extends out towards him. My manicured nails brush his shoulder, my fingertips dangerously close to his warm, inviting skin. My nails graze his arm, trail down to his wrist, over the back of his hand, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He hasn't stirred once. I suddenly want to see what all I can run my fingernails over, to see where I can give him goose bumps. Everyone else can wait, but this can't.

I make my way back up his arm, over his shoulder, then down his chest. The goose bumps form almost immediately, and I feel myself smile. I gently rake my nails further down, over his muscular stomach and stop where the blanket begins. Instead of going further down, I follow it over his hip and chance a glance at his face. His expression hasn't changed; he's out like a light. He must have been drinking heavy last night.

With a little mental shrug I start to inch the covers down a little, making more little goose bumps over his hip as I go. Surely he'd wake up for this, right? That's when I hear someone behind me. Feeling like I've been caught stealing chocolate from Jubilee's "secret" stash, I stand up and turn around, but not before noticing that I've pulled that blanket down just far enough to tell that Remy had gone to sleep without his pants, too. The person in front of me doesn't give me a chance to really think about pulling the sheet the rest of the way off, because that blue bitch is glaring at him viciously, like she wants to slit his throat.

"Do you still pine for him, Anna Marie?"  
"Ah love him, Mystique."  
"Ugh. He's not good enough for you."

Mystique rolls her eyes at me and gets this look of complete disgust on her face. The urge to hit her square in the jaw is almost overwhelming as she gets closer to me. Ignoring my glare, she approaches me and takes me by the shoulders, careful to keep her fingers from my bare skin. With one swift motion I'm turned to face Remy again, and I notice just how beautiful and angelic he looks. Everything in me wants to just give him whatever he wants. If he opened his eyes right now and asked me to kiss him, I wouldn't be able _not_ to. What has been wrong with me? The grip on my shoulder takes my attention, though, and "Mama" has a grim look on her face.

"You've missed your chance with him. He'll never be yours regardless of what you do. The only way you can have him now if you absorb him."

My face goes slack with shock, and I realize that I had a goofy smile on my face up until now. Absorb him? I just want to love him... Why can't I have that? Like she's read my mind, she pipes up again.

"You blew it! Don't you see? He's done with you! Don't you want him? Then take him, _Rogue._"

Before I know it, I'm falling forward toward Remy. She's shoved me. I guess she really wants me to hurt him, but I just don't want to. I manage to catch myself on the back of the couch and I just hover over Remy. He still hasn't stirred. Remy hasn't moved at all. He's a light sleeper; he should've been up when I started messing with him. What's wrong with him?

I fall, landing on top of him with my hands splayed over his chest and my lips barely touching his. Almost immediately his skin color fades to a horrible ashen color and his muscles tense beneath me. I can't pull away no matter how hard I try and he just keeps getting paler beneath me. Suddenly the beating sound in the air is all I can hear, it rips through my mind. And then it begins to slow. His skin is almost as white as snow and pulled tight against his tensed muscles as the rhythm I'm hearing is so slow that it's... it's stopped. It's stopped and Remy looks like a corpse instead of an angel.

I killed him. Oh, Lord, I killed him. I killed my Remy.

* * *

Before I know it, Remy's gone and I'm sitting with my hands over my face and I'm shaking all over. I lower my hands slowly and look around, trying to find any sign of Remy's body or of Mystique. I'm in my room, in my bed, and there's no one with me. My room is lit by the morning sunlight sifting through the curtains, but this time, I feel like crap. My head hurts. My eyes are puffy from all the crying I did yesterday. I can also tell I've been crying in my sleep; my pillow is damp and my face is wet. What I notice the most, though, is the cold, empty feeling in my chest, like my heart is missing. I know that it was a dream; it had to be, but if it wasn't real, why do I feel like this? Why do I feel so defeated, like everything is over?

_Because it_ is_ over_. I hear a low internal voice, Mystique's maybe, fire at me in my head and I immediately push it back down.

"No. It's not. Ah'm gonna get him back."

But what if I don't? What if that's what the dream meant? What if that's why I feel so dead inside? I hold my aching head in my hands and try not to cry more. I'm so dehydrated I can barely function as it is, losing more fluids will just make my head hurt more and I won't be able to think straight when I finally see Remy.

Something in the back of my mind nags at me, adding on "if he's alive" to the end of that thought. But he's alive. He's gotta be. What would have killed him? Nothing happened last night to my knowledge, But if he went out with Logan, and decided to drive his bike...

I can't do this to myself. I can't. It was a stupid dream, and I haven't absorbed anyone recently that has premonitions, to my knowledge. this is just my extra psyches trying to drag me down. I haul myself out of bed, trying to stop the cold feeling in my body. That image of Remy lying dead on the couch underneath me won't leave my mind as I make a beeline for the dresser and check for my gloves. They're there, crumpled instead of folded, but they're there. With a massive sigh of relief, I take a shower and start the process of getting ready for the day.

It's quiet out in the hall as I'm putting the finishing touches on and making sure my outfit and makeup are just right. I find myself dressing to catch Remy's eye with a t-shirt that hugs my chest and jeans that do the same to my hips, just like I did in the dream, and even though it makes me a little uneasy, I brush it off and go for my gloves. I can't afford to sit and worry right now. I have to focus on the plan. It's not an especially well-thought out plan, but it's a plan. I'm going to spend the day making sure that I'm available to Remy, if he wants to talk. I'm going to find ways of staying near him, and hopefully I'll be able to get a few minutes alone with him so we can talk. I just hope I'm not too late. I don't know what I'd do if I lost him.

That's the thought I hold onto. Fear has always been such a driving factor in my life, and now I'm afraid of the right thing. Losing him to my own stupidity. I don't even look at my gloves this morning when I yank them on hastily, and I head out the door a determined woman.

* * *

I know Remy's probably asleep. Yesterday was a special case, and my dumb ass made sure that today wouldn't be special in his mind. But when I walk past his door, I stop. I know better, but I can't keep myself from trying the door. It's open. I step in and close it behind me. When I turn around, I see him all wrapped up in his sheets; his hair's fanned out over the pillow like an auburn halo. He's snoring just a little bit, right now but it's honestly the most wonderful sound I've ever heard. He's alive and perfect. My breath hitches in my chest and I'm crying again.

Oh crap, I've gotta get out of here before he wakes up. He probably wouldn't want to wake up to me standing in his room crying like a little girl over a nightmare I had. I turn and flee, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I can but the door still clicks loudly. I half-hope that I woke him up, but I hurry down the hall anyway.

It's after noon and I haven't seen him since I checked on him this morning. I've been keeping myself occupied reading that novel I bought last month, but the later it gets, the more I worry and the less I read. I finally drop the book onto the coffee table, trusting it to be there when I get back, and head down to Remy's room. I raise my hand to knock quietly on his door when it swings open and he nearly walks into me. I lower my hand quickly and give him a bright smile while he steps back to keep from colliding with me. I can tell by the look on his face that he has a headache. He runs his hand through his hair, and several long strands just fall back down to frame his face as he's rubbing the back of his neck.

"Mornin', _cheré_."  
"Afternoon, sugah."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry, guys, about the huge wait. I love the reviews I got on the last chapter! Thank y'all so much, and thanks, too, for bearing with me. I actually wrote a good deal of this while I had a massive migraine, because I've been too stressed over my new job to sleep lately, so writing a tired, grumpy, in pain Remy was really easy, because that's how I was feeling :P Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

Someone's in my room. The brightness on my eyelids tells me it's daytime, so it's likely Stormy leaving me a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. That'll help me through the talking-to she's gonna give me if she see's I'm up. I really don't feel like a lecture, especially one I've heard a million times so I stay still, hoping she doesn't notice the change in my breathing. Just when I realize that the person at the door isn't coming any closer, I hear a sob and realize that it's not Stormy at all. It's Rogue. My head feels like it's about to split, so I'm slow getting up. By the time I sit up and rub at my eyes, she's already out the door. The sound of the door clicking shut, the only thing that tells me she was really there, feels like a bullet to the brain. This Cajun now officially regrets drinking so much last night.

I only had a beer when I was out at Harry's with Logan. I nursed that one bottle while we talked about Rogue for almost an hour. He'd known her a lot longer than I have, but he didn't tell me anything I hadn't already figured out for myself. When I finally got sick of torturing myself talking about her, we started talking about his interests. His interests being Stormy. That surprised the living hell outta me, cause I was expecting to hear about Jean or his Mariko. Not that Stormy ain't worthy of his attention or nothing; I just never figured her for his type. He absolutely refused to tell me whether or not he planned on making a move, and there was no way I could get enough beer into that _loup-garou_ to get him to spill it. Eventually, the shine wore off that game and I decided to just call it a night. He was getting sore with me and I was getting bored. When he asked me where I was off to, I told him home. No point in getting drunk, I said, I'd just remember it all again tomorrow and and hangover would make me more miserable for it. God, I was right.

It wasn't long after midnight when I got home, but everyone was already pretty much turned in. All that silence on the outside made everything on the inside so much louder. I could hear her crying again. It was a low, soft sound that few others ever heard. She always tries her best not to cry; it doesn't mesh as well as yelling and carrying on does with her tough girl attitude. But I couldn't see her. Her bedroom door wasn't open, and the hallway was emtpy. Maybe that beer had a better hold of me than I thought, or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. I couldn't tell which, so I just went into my room. But when I closed the door, she just let go. I stood at the door for almost fifteen minutes fighting with myself and listening to her sob, and when I finally decided to go out there and apologize to her, she was already gone. I'm still not even sure she was there to begin with; it might've been anything. Whatever it was, I needed it out of my head for a few minutes. So I sat right down on the bed and pulled the bottle of bourbon I been keeping in the nightstand out, and I got to drinking. Logan'd told me not to go after her any more. She'd have to come to me, and he assured me she would if she wanted me. Drinking and playing solitaire would keep me in my room, so that's what I did until the cards started moving on their own. Then I undressed and dropped into bed.

And now that she's actually come to me, crying, I've gone and missed her, unless this was my imagination, too. Though the pain in my poor head be pretty good proof that something went through my door. _Dieu_, I don't even remember how much of that bottle I had last night. It only takes me a second to find the bottle, laying on its side next to my desk with maybe a swallow or two left inside. _Merde_. I lower myself slowly back into bed, half-hoping that Stormy'll come and give me a glass of water and an aspirin. This Cajun ain't in the mood to go gallivanting around the mansion while everyone else is bustling around making noise. My head hurts worse just thinking about it. Besides, I'm supposed to be making _ma belle femme_ come to me. What better way to do that than to lie around in my room?

There, that's settled. I'm staying right here.

* * *

This boy's head's about to split wide open if he don't get him something now. This hurts worse than the time Juggernaut flung me into a car head first. Against my better judgement, I open up my eyes, try to ignore the sudden increase in agony, and see that the light filtering through my thick curtains is slanted in a different direction than before. It's gotta be somewhere around noon. Just about time to get up, I reckon, and stop hiding before someone comes up to make sure I ain't dead yet. I throw back the covers and roll on out of bed, wincing at the way my head throbs at the change in altitude.

As I turn on the shower, I wonder where Roguey's at. She might be down in her room; she did say she had some spring cleaning yesterday. But I shouldn't go check on her. This is my new method, and I gotta stick to it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz. More like absence makes you downright crazy. I already miss her from that mission she went on. How the hell am I supposed to keep from flirting with that fiery Southern beauty while she's standing in front of me when I can't help but flirt with the idea of her? How can I keep from walking my ass down a few doors and checking on her to make sure she's feeling all right? I shut off the shower and towel off myself and my mirror, so I can see how bad off I look. I can look just about normal if I brush my teeth, trim this mess on my chin down to a shadow... but I'll still look half-dead if I don't get a hold of myself. Maybe this wasn't such a _bonne idée_ after all. But really, what else can I do? Nothing else has worked. Best not to even think about it. I need my confidence, my swagger, my poker face before I can fool anyone into thinking everything is fine. Don't cats come to the one person in the room that ignores them? That's right. And if this morning was any indication, she was already considering it.

Tugging on a pair of worn jeans, I let myself stumble a bit to get it all out of my system. Clumsy now, graceful later. I pull on the first shirt I find and go to find some grub.

Or not.

I nearly run into a soft bar of white silk, realizing almost too late that Rogue's in my way. She gives me this smile while I try to collect myself and I find it hard to look away.

"Mornin', _cheré_."  
"Afternoon, sugah."

There she is, in all her glory. Her hands are clasped behind her now, pushing her chest out and causing that tiny v-necked t-shirt she's wearing to strain and stretch. Poor bastard. What I wouldn't give to-

"Remy, Ah really wanted t'talk to you."

Focus. I take another couple of steps back and sit down on the edge of my bed and gesture for her to sit at my desk. She looks like she's on edge, which ain't a good sign, but she shuts the door behind her and takes a seat anyway. When she goes to sit down, she turns her back to me and leans down to gather up the cards I left out. Her backside is all but in my face while she's picking up the cards, and her hips wiggle just a little bit when she straightens up to square off the deck and hand it to me. _Mon Dieu_. Is she doing that on purpose? One of those pretty jade eye drops closed in a wink and she sits down in front of me in my chair. The sweet torture continues when she leans forward, her elbows propped on her knees, and looks me in the eye. My headache's nearly forgotten when I glance down her shirt and remember what she's hiding underneath all that tight clothing.

"Baby... my eyes are up here."  
"_Desole_, _cheré_, not feelin' hundred percent jus' yet."  
"Ah can tell..."

She's giving me the sexiest grin, and her tone is playful. Is she flirting with me? It's been so long since she done this that I almost forgot what it feels like. My fingers itch to reach out and take her hands, to brush her cheek. I can do it, barehanded, but I don't want to scare her off. But then she does something that shocks me. Her grin falters as she begins to remove her gloves. The look on her face is a little tighter, her nerves are getting the best of her. I probably need to stop this, even though it hurts to put this off any longer.

"What're you doin', Rogue?"  
"You touched me yesterday... Ah wanted to know how."  
"You sure yo' ready fo' dis?"

Rogue nods, but something in her eyes tells me she's terrified.

"Yes, Remy. Please?"  
"A'right. What I do is..."

I reach out slowly, with a feeling I'm going to regret this, and begin to sheath my hand in energy. She holds her hand out like she's waiting for me to give her a cookie or something, and it'd be cute except for the look of total fear in her eyes. I should stop, but I don't. I want this so bad and she's telling me she wants it, too.

"I put a bit a' kinetic energy over m'self. Y'can't see it, but it's dere. You wan' try?"

She nods, trying to look eager, and I try my best to believe her. I put my hand in hers, hoping that this works and we don't end up burnt or worse. As soon as my hand makes contact with hers, she yanks it back like she touched a hot burner and looks at me with this guilt in her eyes.

"Ah'm sorry, Remy, Ah-"  
"_Non, cheré, _it's all right. Y'just ain't ready."  
"No! Ah **am** ready fer this!"  
"Anna Marie, I ain't kickin' you out an' I ain't sayin' not'in' but dat y'ain't ready. I'm glad yer tryin'... Dat makes me happier den y'know. But y'still too scared. Y'still don't trus' me. Ain't gon' push you."

The look in her eyes stops me dead. She's starting to cry again and my heart feels ready to break.

"But Remy... Ah don't wanna lose you."  
"Y'ain't goin' to. I love you."


	7. Chapter 7

****A/N: Hey, guys. It's been a loooong time. I've been on the site, just not writing anything lately. I'm hoping I haven't lost my touch. This one should go on for a couple more chapters at least. :) Happy reading!

* * *

The dam burst when I heard those words.

_I love you._

Those three little words dispersed that dead feeling in my chest, undid the grip of anxiety, and relieved me so much I couldn't help but cry. I know it's upsetting him, I know he wants me to stop, but after the dream, after the fear, I'm just so happy that he still feels anything for me at all. He's just sitting there, shuffling his cards quickly and looking down. I start to cover my face and turn away, but I see him toss the cards onto his nightstand and get up. Before I can ask him where he's going, I see him changing out of the t-shirt he was wearing, and I'm distracted by all those lean muscles moving under his skin. He tosses the shirt onto his dresser and leans down to get a different one out. I'm too busy watching him move to cry by the time he's got his long sleeved shirt on, then he pulls on a pair of full gloves I didn't even know he had. When has he ever worn gloves that covered his whole hand? I'm sure I've some on him, but I always figured he borrowed them off a dresser when it got cold out. It never seemed to me like he'd go out and buy some to keep. When my tear-blurred focus slips back to him, he's standing in front of me, those almost-too pretty lips quirked into a small smile.

"C'mere, cher, we start slow."

Even though there are a hundred voices in my head screaming that I shouldn't, I get up and put my arms around him, carefully keeping my face away from his. It's habit and he doesn't correct me. I lay my cheek on his shoulder and feel his warmth soak through the cloth. His arms snake slowly around my waist and he pulls me just a little closer, gently and slowly. His shirt is so soft under my bare hands. Did he do that on purpose?

All of the sudden, I feel him wince and grunt. Did I touch him somehow? Did the sheath thing end up hurting him? What have I done? I let him go quick so I don't hurt him any more than I already have and he starts to fall back. I've killed him; I know I have,

My hands shoot out and catch hold of his arms, steadying him before he lays himself out on the floor, and he gives me this tired, but amused, grin. I know my eyes are as wide as dinner plates and he's grinning about it, that stupid, wonderful swamp rat.

"'M okay, jus' a lil' bit hung over. Ain't not'ing."

"You didn't drive yerself home, didja?"

I'm maneuvering him to the bed as I'm talking, and he's still grinning that sleepy crocodile grin. Makes me wanna slap the spit out of him for scaring me like that. After I sit him down, he looks up at me with those beautiful eyes and nods his head. At that moment, my eyes registered that he was opening his mouth to add an explanation, but my mouth was quicker.

"Remy! What in tarnation were you thinkin'? You could get killed on that stupid bike a yers if you keep getting' on it drunk! You stupid swamp rat! If you get yerself killed goin' out an' drinkin' like that, Ah'll follow you through heaven an' hell just ta wring yer neck! Ah can't believe you. You ain't like Logan; Ah don't care how much y'all're around each other. You can't pull yerself together like he can if you take a spill, damnit!"

My head's hurting even worse than it was, and there are tears in my eyes again, but I'm so mad. I know my hands are on my hips and my cheeks are red, because he's grinning even bigger now. I really am about to slap that smile off his face, hang over or not, this ain't funny. How could he do something so stupid, over and over again? Why not take someone with him, or have Logan drive? Logan doesn't get drunk, not unless he's trying, but Remy does. I don't know what I'd do if he really had crashed last night. I probably would've died on the spot when I heard…

That cursed Cajun's laughing at me. I feel my fists clench and he scoots back on the bed, still chuckling.

"_Desolé_, _ma_ _chere_, _mais_ yo're so _belle_ when yo' angry. You know dat?"

"This ain't funny, Remy! Ah don't want you to get yerself killed… especially over me bein' an idiot yesterday."

I sigh and start to sit down, but his gloved hand darts forward and catches me. He pulls me over to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. I'm not mad anymore, but that empty feeling is coming back just thinking about him being gone forever. I'm looking down when I feel the leather of his glove on my cheek. It's cold, and I don't like the texture, but the way he touches me makes me feel so much better. I want to feel him do that all on his own. I really, truly do. When I look up into his face to ask him for it, he's not grinning, he's smiling.

"Whatcha smilin' bout?"

That sass creeps back into my voice because I'm still feeling sore, and Lord I regret it, but that smug look doesn't change on his face. He can't stop being him, even with a hangover.

"You really do got a soft spot f' me."

"'Course Ah do… Ah jus'… Ah don't know, Remy! You drive me crazy! Yer just so beautiful an' sexy an' Ah never could have you."

My eyes are down on my hands again. I've said all this before, but it's always been me talking to someone else about him, normally Logan. Sometimes when I'm not too upset about things, I tell Logan stuff like that just to watch him make faces because it's honestly hilarious. But I know Remy's heard me say it before. Something hits the bed near my leg and before I look up, he's got his bare hand on mine, and it's just as warm as I remember. I think I might've gasped, because that sexy, irritating chuckle comes from him again, but he doesn't move his hand.

"You can have me now, y' know."

I just look at him. I can hear in my mind a hundred different ways this can all go wrong and end with him dead, but he smiles at me patiently.

"You jus' have to trust me, Anna."

"But Remy, what if-?"

His other hand rises to just in front of my mouth, and his lips purse as he shushes me. I honestly think of kissing him. I do all the time. It's why he hurts to be around. I know how soft and wonderful his lips are on mine, on my skin. His bare hand strokes my cheek and even though it takes everything I have not to flinch at first, I end up leaning into the touch. Lord, help me, I missed that so much, and I am so sorry when he takes his hand away.

"We'll deal wit' whatever happens together. 'Cause I love you."

His image doubles and blurs as I begin to tear up for what must be the hundredth time since I woke up yesterday. It doesn't take me long to make up my mind about how I want to reply, because I've wanted to be honest about it for a good long time.

"Ah love you, too, Remy."


End file.
